Strangers on a Train
by Leikiz
Summary: One little 'hello' can change everything. [Taylor][Jack]


**1**

The driver gave her a long stare as she got on the bus. He opened his mouth as if to tell her to go away, and then shut it again, shaking his head. She fumbled for her bus pass and withdrew it dripping from a pocket, the laminated surface smeared with congealing soda.

"Just get in," the driver said, jerking his thumb toward the back of the bus.

She nodded and walked away before he could reconsider. Her shoes squished with each step, and she agonized over the sounds- could anyone else hear them?

The bus was sparsely populated; it was midday, and most people were either at work already, or done with their errands. She passed a few older women with shopping bags, and gave a wide berth to a tattooed man sitting in one of the side-seats. A Latino girl glanced up at her, and then did a double-take. Taylor hurried by, her head down.

The back seats were occupied by a trio of young men in the rough jackets she associated with blue-collar workers. They all looked at her, but no remarks came her way. It was only that that made her sit down where she was, rather than retreating back to the front. She was roughly 3/4s of the way back, in a small gulf where no one else sat.

The bus revved into motion, and she stared out the window, watching as the scenery changed around her. It was a distraction from the sickly-sweet reek of juice that surrounded her, and the way her hair was drying into stiff, tacky clumps.

They made it a few blocks before her eyes unfocused and she turned away, her mind churning over what had happened.

 _Emma._

That bathroom was one more place she couldn't hide now. Little by little, she was being hunted down and driven like- like a stupid, frightened rabbit.

Taylor closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the back of the seat in front of her.

 _Five more months of school_. _Just five more_ , she promised herself. It didn't make her feel better. Every day felt like a war; not hours long, but _weeks_. Prolonged campaigns from the other girls with the sole purpose of breaking her down.

She sighed, and unbidden, a little voice in her head added, ' _Two more years._ ' Not five months. Five months _plus_ two years.

A sticky bead of liquid slid down her cheek. It felt like a tear, but she wasn't crying. Tears hadn't done anything. She'd dried up long ago.

The bus stopped, and a few of the passengers departed through the side door. Several more got on at the front, filing down the aisle. She noticed them only vaguely; glancing up, checking for threats, for anyone who might do something, and then returned to staring at the floor.

A man sat down in the seat across the aisle from her. Taylor turned away so he couldn't see what a mess she was. Hopefully, and she almost laughed bitterly at the thought, he'd think she was just another homeless person.

The bus started up again, turning down a side street as it headed for the next stop. There would be four more before hers.

"Excuse me."

The landscape outside blurred into a mélange of shapes and colors; all dirty buildings and concrete.

"Miss?"

Taylor blinked. She looked up.

The man in the other seat was eyeing her. He held out a hand, and she drew back reflexively.

"It's alright," he said. He opened his hand, showing her a folded white handkerchief. "See?"

She stared, making no move to take it. Annoyance flared up inside her. Why couldn't he just leave her alone and mind his own business? She looked at him again. What was this about? People didn't just do stuff like this in Brockton Bay.

The man's age was indeterminate, older than thirty, maybe forty, from the fine lines at the corners of his dark eyes, but it was hard to say. He had a… _vitality_ about him, something in the way he sat, and the calm, knowing smile on his face, that she hated at once. It was an ugly, basic feeling- jealousy that he was happier than her.

The man didn't lower his hand though. "I don't bite," he said, a note of laughter in his voice.

"What do you want?"

His smile widened just a bit. The man brushed a strand of his long, black hair back with his free hand, tucking it back into the loose ponytail he wore. "You looked like you needed to dry off."

"Don't worry about it." She knew she sounded rude, and didn't care. It wasn't his problem.

"Alright then." He pocketed the handkerchief, but didn't turn away. Taylor's annoyance grew into anger, her fists balling in her lap. _Go away._

"How did that happen?"

"None of your business."

"Of course not." He shrugged lazily. "Doesn't mean I can't be curious."

She returned to looking out the window and didn't answer.

"I'm a bit of a people person," the man continued, his voice still calm and undaunted by her rejection. "And right now… I'd say you're having a bad time."

 _No shit._

"Teenage girl, alone on her own in the middle of a school day, all covered in… what is that- soda? Having trouble at school, darling?"

Taylor whipped around, all her frustration from the day boiling over, pushed past the breaking point by this man who just-wouldn't- _go._

"Fuck off!" she hissed at him.

A few nearby passengers glanced back at her, and she lowered her voice even further, snarling her words at the man.

"Just leave me alone. What do you care, huh?!"

He only blinked slowly. "Like I said, kiddo, I'm just a curious observer. I saw someone in-" He paused. "Someone who needed someone else to talk to."

She curled her lip at him, uncaring of what he thought- he was a stranger. "Leave me alone."

"What does it cost you?"

That stopped her. She squinted at him through her smudged glasses. The man had an angular face, his chin lightly-stubbled; he looked vaguely familiar. She didn't know him from somewhere, did she? Was that why he was being so odd?

"What does what cost me?"

"To talk to me," he explained.

The bus came to a stop, and their conversation paused while passengers came on and off.

"Why would I want to talk to you?"

"Why not?"

She turned to fully face him for the first time. Her anger had ebbed, replaced with something more like incredulity at the man's sheer persistence.

"I'm a stranger," he said. "I don't want anything from you, and I thought you might like a friendly ear to ah- vent to." The man held up his hands as if to say ' _why not?_ ' "Besides, I'm only in town for a week or two, tops, for business."

Taylor didn't answer him. The red flags were still up; this whole thing felt eerie, but the man was just so earnest… and insistent. Was he maybe- was this a gang thing? Did gangs recruit like this? She bit her lip. What if it was some kind of weird sex thing? An older man trying to pick up a teenage girl.

She dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. Nobody was _that_ desperate.

The bus rolled to a stop; the street outside well-known to her. Her stop. Taylor got up and moved toward the door.

She glanced back- was the man following her? No. He'd stayed sitting. As she stared, he looked up from his cell phone, smiled, and then nodded to her.

Her shoes _squicking_ against the rubber floor mats, Taylor got off the bus and headed for home.

XXX

If she'd thought the next day of school was going to be better- and she hadn't, she'd have been wrong.

The trio had been emboldened by their success with the juice prank, and had come at her like a pack of wolves the second she walked through the door.

Taylor had promised herself- had promised her _mother_ that she'd stick it out, school was more important, but it was a hollow thought.

She came back from lunch to find her locker ajar. The interior had been coated with a thick, tarry substance, globules of the stuff running down onto the floor. Pasted into the tar was a collage of words and letters cut from magazine pages.

Slut. Whore. Cancer. Bitch. Kill yourself. Suicide. Cunt.

The centerpiece was four words orbited by a cloud of smaller expletives.

" _HER DEATH. YOUR FAULT_."

Taylor turned and ran.

She was in tears when the bus came, hating herself for them, but unable to stop.

 _Tired. She was so fucking tired of this._

The bus driver barely looked at her this time. She stumbled back to the seat she'd had the day before, and sank into it, her insides twisting with suppressed hate.

It was ten minutes before the next stop. She watched for the man this time, and was surprised at the _relief_ she felt when he got on. He made his way to his seat, weaving through the other passengers with graceful ease.

Taylor took a deep breath. She had to tell someone. Journaling what they did wasn't enough. It didn't help. Telling dad would only make it worse.

"Do you-" She swallowed. "Do you still want to talk?"

"Of course." He held out a hand to her once again, empty this time. Not an offering, but a greeting. She reached out and shook it once, feeling smooth calluses against her palm.

"I'm Taylor."

The man's smile appeared once more.

"Call me Jacob."

XXX

 ** **Finally, a not-so oneshot that I plan on continuing. This one came directly out of too many fics where Taylor runs into 'a really helpful blonde girl with freckles' in odd places around Brockton. I got tired of them and started thinking of other possibilities.****


End file.
